Aithne sat in the kitchen, as recovered as she'd be, what with the bustle going around. She stood up and closed her eyes a moment, willing her head to clear. And it did. She'd learned to control it when it was only a nuisance.

"Now then," she said to Portia. "What are we to do? As the Guttersnipe would say," she smiled wryly, "What are our marching orders?"

She knew they were not supposed to just keep going as if nothing was happening. Not anymore. And her practical side had now fully taken over- pushing her illness back as warriors push back wounds until they can be tended.